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LINCOLN'S FIRST LOVE 



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Ms 



LINCOLN'S 
FIRST LOVE 

AlTtuc Story 

BY 

CARRIi DOUGLAS 
WRIGHT 




i 



CAica^o 

ACMCCLURG&CO- 

1901 



m 



m 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two Corttd Received 

OCT. 10 1901 

COPVRIOHT ENTRY 

CLASS Ct XXo. No. 

1 '^ ^ I U- 

COPY B. 



Er4-ST 



/V^^q4- 



COPYRIGHT 

By a. C. McCLURG & CO. 
1901 



iLincoln'si ^im Hobe 




WO miles south of Peters- 
burg, in the state of Illi- 
nois, are the hills of New 
Salem, picturesque and 
beautiful; yet with all 
their picturesqueness and beauty, they 
would probably never have gained more 
than local fame had not Abraham Lin- 
coln there spent his early life and met 
his first love. 

Just west of the Sangamon River is 
the hill on which the little town of New 
Salem was built. It is very steep and 
rugged until you reach the summit, 
where it is comparatively level. The 
view from this hill is one of the most 
beautiful in Illinois. At its foot stands 
the old mill, long since still, as are the 

9 



%intnln'$ fit$t Hobe 



hands that there changed the golden grain 
into snowy flakes of flour. The noisy dam 
rushes and roars, disturbing the quiet 
and peace of the forsaken place. Not a 
vestige of the little town of New Salem 
remains. Two forest trees spread their 
protecting arms over the sod where once 
stood Abraham Lincoln's little store. 
Upon one of these trees some skillful 
hand has carved his firm, kind features. 

Lift up your heads, O stately trees ; 

Flow on, O shining river! 
Your fame shall live with Lincoln's name. 

In freedom's breast forever. 

Early in the thirties, when Indians 
roamed the prairies of Illinois, and herds 
of deer lapped the sparkling water of 
the rivers, a young man who was des- 
tined to become one of the greatest, 
if not the greatest man this country 

10 



atncoln*^ fim ttobe 



has produced, came to New Salem to 
dwell among the hills. He was a most 
unattractive lad, with trousers of jean, 
and homespun jacket, not well fitted to 
his lean, lank form. One of the first 
persons to make friends with Lincoln 
was Mintor Graham, the village school- 
master. This man was fond of books 
and learning, and he was not long in 
interesting Abe, who was most grateful 
for the instruction Mr. Graham freely 
and gladly gave him. Lincoln was very 
fond of arithmetic, and to his teacher's 
delight, mastered the tables and learned 
to do sums as well as the brightest 
scholar in his school. Grammar was 
the next study taken up by the young 
student, and he was seldom seen with- 
out a book in his hand. Abe, as he 
was familiarly called, opened a store of 
general merchandise and groceries. His 

II 



flincoln'^ fit^t Hobe 



genial manner and his honesty won for 
him many friends, and he was quite 
successful in his business. 

t^ ^1^ Jji ^ ^ 

Each morning, with neatly braided 
hair, a frock of homespun reaching 
to her ankles, a plain waist of the 
same brown material buttoned down 
the back, a little blue sunbonnet tied 
under her chin, Ann Rutledge tripped 
away to school. She was a general 
favorite, and lucky was the lad who 
discovered the first wild rose on the 
hillside to pin on the border of her 
little bonnet. 

Ann was full of sentiment ; in the 
wild flowers that grew on the hillside, 
in the song of the thrush, in the gold 
of the sunset, she read lessons that 
afforded her delights of which her com- 
panions knew nothing. 

12 



Eincoln^^ f ir^t 3lobe 



Mintor Graham was a tall, sinewy 
man, with sandy hair, and small, sharp 
features. He was rather stern; any 
scholar who was guilty of idleness or 
levity was recalled to a sense of duty 
by a single glance of the master's 
eye. 

The schoolhouse was a primitive 
structure of logs and mud plaster, with a 
huge chimney and a great fireplace. 
Often when the hickory logs burned 
bright, fantastic shadows of the master 
were reflected on the walls, causing the 
smaller boys to nudge each other in 
great merriment. Each window con- 
tained but four small panes of glass, 
the seats were slabs supported by four 
wooden pegs, the only desk was the 
teacher's one, a rudely constructed affair, 
at which the pupils took turns at writ- 
ing. Abe Lincoln was greatly interested 

13 



ItincDln^^ f ir^t Hobe 



in Mr. Graham's school — and in one 
scholar in particular, Ann Rutledge. 
She had not passed his store twice a day, 
to and from school, unnoticed. Often 
he would catch himself glancing at the 
clock, wondering if it was not time for 
school to be out, and he would listen 
for the footsteps of the little maid, who 
was slowly, but surely, creeping into 
his heart. 

He saw the face of Ann Rutledge in 
everything that grew. Were not the 
nuts on the hillside the same brown as 
her soulful eyes, the cardinal flower the 
red of her lips, the haw blossoms like 
her fair brow, and the sunlight on the 
stream was it not as Ann's bright smile? 
Little wonder the young man thought 
of her all day, and dreamed of her by 
night. 

Yet this man, who in after years 
14 



Uincoln'^ fit^t %oht 



faced unflinchingly the greatest dangers, 
had not the courage to tell this child, 
J who belonged to nature, just as the 
\ \ violet or anemone, that he loved her. 
One day, as Abe sat musing in his 
store, his thoughts turned to Ann. 
Oh, if he could only protect her in the 
years to come from the storms of life, 
as the great oak protects the little flower 
that grows so closely by it. His 
reveries were abruptly disturbed by a 
lad, who thrust his head in at the door, 
with: "Say, Abe, thar's a boat a-sink- 
in' down thar in the river nigh the 
dam." 

Lincoln, taking his hat, locked the 
store, and went to the scene of trouble. 
He found the boat about to sink, but 
with his unusual strength, he managed 
to get it over the dam ; then, by boring a 
hole, and tipping the boat back, he let 

15 



Hincoln'^ fit^t llobe 



the water out. On hearing of the 
excitement, Mr. Graham considered the 
event of sufficient importance to make 
him dismiss school. 

The pupils were not long in reaching 
the scene. Ann trembled with fear 
when she saw Abe in what she con- 
sidered a most dangerous position. 

She waited anxiously until he was 
safe ashore. The shadows were now 
gathering, and together the two walked 
slowly up the hill. 

" I thought sure you would be 
drowned, Abe," said Ann. 

" Would you have cared if I had 
been? " replied he. 

" Oh, Abe, I should feel dreadful to 
see any one drowned." 

Mrs. Rutledge was in a state of 
great excitement when they reached the 
house. 

i6 



Xincoln'^ fit^t Sobe 



*' Why, Ann, you *re mighty late, 
'pears like; where hev you bin, honey?" 

" Down to the river, ma, watching 
Abe let the water out of a flatboat, and 
it in danger of sinking all the time." 

" I hain't got no time to hear tell of 
flatboats nor nuthin* now, Ann. Dad 's 
goin' to St. Louis to-morrie, and we 
got a heap to do. Sit down, Abe, I 
forgot my manners, I 'm so stirred up 
over dad's goin'." 

" I *11 go back to the store, I guess," 
said Abe; "you're all so busy. I'll 
come to-morrow evening, Ann, at five 
o'clock. Will you borrow Mr. Gra- 
ham's grammar ? then we can study 
together." 

" I 'm glad dada 's going to St. 
Louis," she said, " for he will get me a 
Kirkham's grammar, so we won't have 
to borrow any more. We can write our 

17 



%moW$ ftt$t atobe 



lessons to-morrow evening. Jim Arm- 
strong climbed a big oak tree, got some 
ink galls, and made me as much as a 
pint of ink, I guess. Don't you think 
that was kind of Jim ?" 

Abe thought so ; in fact, he thought 
it too kind of Jim. 

Mr. Rutledge was up at daybreak 
next morning, and with " prairie 
schooner" filled with deer pelts, started 
at snail's pace for St. Louis. 

All day Abe was busy in his store, 
drawing molasses, measuring calico, or 
weighing carpet chain, but not for a mo- 
ment did he forget the hazel eyes of Ann 
Rutledge. More than once he stopped 
to listen to the thrush, which seemed to 
sing her praises; while the robin's sweet 
song expressed his heart's love so ten- 
derly, he tried to form into words its 
tremulous notes. At last the hands of 

i8 



Jtincoln^^ fit^t Hotoe 



the little wooden clock on the wall, with 
its weights hanging down, pointed to the 
hour of five. Abe stepped to the mir- 
ror and looked at his plain, honest face; 
for the first time in his life, he wished 
he were a different looking man. He 
brushed his stubborn locks from his 
broad forehead, picked up his slouch 
hat, and sauntered out, leaving store, 
business, and care behind. Ann met 
him at her mother's door. 

" Come in, Abe, and be careful that 
you don't fall; the floor is pretty slick, 
ma's just finished scrubbing it." 

The floor was clean and white, having 
been scrubbed with soft soap and hick- 
ory ashes. Ann handed him a gourd 
of cold spring water from the piggin on 
the bench. 

*^ Did you get the grammar, Ann ?" 
asked Abe. 

19 



aincoln^ie? f ir^t 3lobe 



"Of course I did; I knew you were 
coming to study." 

They were soon in the midst of the 
intricacies of the verb " to love." 

" First person, I love." 

" You love who, Ann?" asked he. 

"Not Jim Armstrong," said Ann, as 
she glanced mischievously from her 
book. 

Time passed rapidly, and they were 
in the midst of their lesson when Mrs. 
Rutledge called: 

" Honey, you must come and help 
ma now. Set the table for supper." 

Reluctantly she pushed back her 
chair and began her task. On the 
hearth glowed the bright hickory em- 
bers ; to the right on the trevet was a 
pot of aromatic coffee, a Dutch oven 
to the left, in which two canvasback 
ducks were simmering in savory gravv 

20 



JtincDln'^ f tt^t Hobe 



and rich dressing. Swinging on the crane 
over the blazing logs was a kettle of jowl 
and hominy. On a board in front of 
the fire was a row of browning johnny- 
cakes. Ann spread the homespun 
cloth, white as snow, and put m its 
place each blue plate, cup, saucer, and 
pewter spoon. When she opened the 
cupboard she was surprised to find a 
large gourd of wild honey. 

" Why, ma, where did you get this 
honey ? " 

" Uncle Lige Watkins robbed a bee 
tree this mornin', and Betsey brung that 
over," her mother answered. " Put it 
on fer supper. I 'low Abe would like 
some with his johnnycake. " 

"Supper's ready now, isn't it, ma.^ '* 
asked Ann. 

" Yes, but Dave hain't come yit. I 
wonder what diviltry he's up to." 

21 



flintoln^^ jFiri8?t Hobe 



" He 's coming up the hill now," said 
Ann; "and what is that he has? Why 
ma, it 's a wild turkey ! " 

" Bless my heart, if it ain't!" 

As he entered, Dave threw the bird 
down at the door, saying : " Ma, there 's 
a present fer ye. Bob Clary went out 
huntin' and shot six; he sent this one to 
you. Guess he had an eye to Ann." 

" Ah, hurry up thar, Dave ! Quit 
your foolin' and git ready for supper," 
said his mother. 

He washed his hands in a basin that 
stood on a bench just outside the door, 
and came in bringing a few small sticks, 
which he threw on the fire. 

" Hullo, Abe ! I spose you 're so 
taken up with that book you can't speak 
to a body; you and Ann will be such 
scholards, common folks will be afeared 
to speak to ye." 

22 



%mtoM$ fit^t Hobc 



All did ample justice to the supper, 
after which the young students returned 
to their book, and studied until nine 
o'clock, when Abe arose to go. 

" I've stayed too late," said he. " I 
hope I have n't kept you up, Mrs. 
Rutledge," as he noticed she was dozing 
over her knitting in the chimney corner. 

"Oh, no! I hain't sleepy," she 
replied, with a yawn. " I'sejust thinkin' 
uv him, wonderin' if he's getting along 
with them thar hides all right." 

"Don't worry/' said Abe; "Mr. 
Rutledge can take care of himself. 
Good night, all," and he lazily strolled 
down to his lonely quarters. Not a 
sound could he hear but the beating of 
his own heart, and the calling of a whip- 
poor-will to his mate from the willows 
which fringed the river banks. 

Nearly four weeks had passed, and 
23 



Jltncoln'^ f ii'^t Jtotje 



Mr. Rutledge had not returned. Ann 
and her mother were anxious, since 
they knew the dangers to which a lone 
traveler was subject on that perilous 
route. The barking of wolves was a 
familiar sound, and these ferocious 
animals had been known to pursue 
travelers. And while Dave related 
thrilling stories of wild cats and pan- 
thers, he generally ended by laughing 
at his mother and sister for feeling 
anxious. 

" Now, you bet dad's all right; there 
hain't nuthin' goin' to hurt him." 

" Ma, the Clarys have invited Dave 
and me over to-morrow night," said 
Ann; " they are going to have a party. 
The Potters, Armstrongs, and Greens 
will all be there. May I go ? " 

" Wal, I hain't no objections," said her 
mother, " if you git that spinnin' done. 

24 



%tntoW0 fit^t %o\}t 



I 'lowed you 'd git right smart done 
afore a-Saturday night." 

" Well, so I will, ma. You know I 
can work fast when I once get at it." 

The next morning Ann was at her 
wheel bright and early. She never 
looked prettier; her face wore a happy 
smile, her slender form bending grace- 
fully as she stepped forward and back- 
ward, while from the distaff in her hand 
she spun yards and yards of flax. The 
low hum of the wheel made a most har- 
monious accompaniment to the serious, 
happy thoughts woven into the threads 
she was spinning. She was thinking of 
Abe, wondering if he cared for her very 
much, wondering if he was going to 
Springfield, not to return, as the neigh- 
bors said. " I shall ask him," she 
thought to herself, " and shall not let 
him know that I care, if he does 
1 25 



Jtincoln'^ f ir^t Itoije 



say he is going. Abe is n't as good- 
looking as Jim Armstrong or Bob 
Clary, either. I like him, though, a 
great deal better than any of the other 
boys. But no one shall ever, ever 
know it. I should n't care for the new 
white dress, with blue ribbons, ma 
promised me ; no, I should n't care for 
anything, if he went away!" Just then 
her mother came in, and Ann began to 
sing merrily. 

" I 'm working fast; don't you think I 
am, ma? " 

"Yes, honey; you've done a heap 
to-day." 

Four weeks from the day Mr. Rut- 
ledge left home, just as the sun was 
sinking, and the tinkle of old Brin- 
dle's bell came closer and closer, as 
she slowly wended her way up the hill, 
Mrs. Rutledge stepped to the door 

26 



ilincoln^^ fh^t Hobe 



with the milk-pail in her hand. In the 
dim distance she saw a team slowly 
advancing. 

" Come here, Dave ! " said she. 
" Hain't that your dad? Them horses 
look powerful like Bob and Sam." 

" Wal, if it hain't," said Dave, and 
grabbing his hat he hurried out to meet 
his father. It was not long before they 
drove up the hill, and no one ever re- 
ceived a heartier welcome than did Mr. 
Rutledge on this home-coming. He 
related many wonderful things that he 
had seen in the great town of St. Louis. 

" Why, ma, there wus hundreds of 
people in the streets." 

" Law, dad, you might have got run 
over and killed," said his wife. 

" I went to a circus, and seen a ele- 
phant with a snout longer than my arm. 
1 give it some gingerbread, and be 

27 



flincoln'^ fxt^t itobe 



durned if the fool thing did n't know 
me next day when they had it on the 
street ! Now, here *s your book, Ann ; 
this here eddication costs a heap o' 
money. I paid a whole dollar fer that, 
and you must learn every word in it." 

Several months elapsed; it was the day 
before Christmas ; the Rutledge family, 
except Ann, were up very early, as there 
was much to be done. Mrs. Rutledge's 
sister. Aunt Nancy Black, with her son 
and daughter, was coming to spend a 
week with them. Company was a rare 
thing, and they had looked forward to 
this visit with much pleasure. On 
waking, Ann looked out to see the con- 
dition of the weather; nothing was ever 
more peaceful than the scene before her. 
The Sangamon Valley and its surround- 
ing hills, all white with a mantle of new- 

28 



Hincoln*^ fit^t Jtobe 



fallen snow, sparkled and gleamed in 
the first rays of the rising sun. The 
little houses on the hillside were as so 
many white altars, the smoke rising 
from the chimneys like incense. 

Ann dressed in a hurry, for she knew 
it was late, and that her mother had been 
up a long time. " Dear, unselfish ma," 
she said to herself; " how lazy I am to 
lie in bed and let her get breakfast alone, 
expecting company, too, this very day. 
Ma will be all worn out by the time 
Aunt Nancy comes." 

" Well, Ann," said her father, " did 
you sleep good ? Your ma hain't let 
me and Dave speak, hardly, feared we 'd 
wake you." 

Soon Mr. Rutledge and Dave went 
out to feed and milk the cows, and Mrs. 
Rutledge and Ann busied themselves 
about the house, planning for their visit- 

29 



ilincoln'^ fit^t llobe 



ors. About four o'clock in the afternoon 
a bob-sled, drawn by two gray horses, 
came briskly up the road. 

"They are coming," said Ann. 

By the time her mother reached the 
door they had arrived. 

" Well, Nancy, I 'm powerful glad 
to see you," said Mrs. Rutledge; "and 
is this here Johnny? Well, well, and 
Becky, honey; I wouldn't ha' know'd 
you. This is my Ann." Mrs. Black 
gave her a hearty kiss on the lips. 
Ann had not seen her cousins since 
they were quite small. Mr. Rutledge 
and Dave came in soon and greet- 
ings were exchanged. As the Blacks 
lived in Canton, they were looked on as 
city folks. Becky was very pretty, fair, 
with blue eyes and light hair. 

On Christmas day, Dave and Johnny 
hitched up the bob-sled, gathered up 

30 



atincoln^^ f it^t Sobe 



the young folks of the neighborhood, 
about sixteen in all, and started off for 
a jolly time. They were packed in 
snugly. Abe sat by Ann and her fair 
cousin. Becky had never looked so 
pretty to Ann as she did then. When 
the sun shone through her light curls 
on her white face, Ann thought she was 
really beautiful, and wondered if Abe 
thought so, too. 

Mrs. Rutledge and Mrs. Black were 
left alone to enjoy a talk over old 
times, as they sat by the bright, cheer- 
ful fire. 

" Say, Nancy, what ever becum of them 
Joneses that used to live down in the 
holler near us ? " 

" Law, Becky, they hain't been thar 
this long time; Manthy and Rachel and 
Bob are all dead, and the house is well- 
nigh gone to pieces; it is nuthin' like 

31 



Hincoln^^ f ir^t Itobe 



it used to be, 'ceptin' the little brook 
and the ellum trees. I could name our 
old friends that 's livin' in shorter time 
than 't would take me to tell you of all 
them as is gone, Becky. There hain't 
nuthin' sure in this world, and I don't 
care much fer nuthin' since he ' s gone," 
she said, wiping away a tear with the 
corner of her apron. "If 'twern't fer 
Becky and Johnny I 'd just as soon fold 
my hands in rest as not." 

"Yes, Nancy; but it is fer Johnny 
and Becky that you ought to cheer up. 
God knows what is best fer us." 

" But you 've got your man, Becky, 
so you 've the whole world." 

" Well, I must say, Rutledge is power- 
ful good to me. I believe I hear the 
children a-comin'. Law, Nancy ! Come 
and see 'em ! We can kinder live our 
lives over through them. I 'm glad 

32 



%inttAn'^ fim %o\^t 



they 're havin' such a good time ; they 
seem awful happy." 

The Christmas week was one round 
of pleasure, and the Blacks were loth 
to go when it was over. Mrs. Rutledge 
was very sad when her sister left, as she 
thought it would probably be a long 
time before they would meet again. 

W H" •!» •t* •*• 

Time went on. Lincoln made rapid 
progress in his studies. Mr. J. T. 
Stuart, of Springfield, had given him 
free use of his law books, and Abe 
would often walk there, a distance of 
some twenty miles, after one. Many 
times, removing his shoes to save wear, 
he would tie them together by the leather 
strings and carry them over his arm. 

Doctor Allen, who was the only 
physician for miles around, was looked 
upon as a sage: 

33 



Jtincoln^^ f ir^^t Stobc 



"And still the wonder grew 
That one small head could carry all he 
knew." 

This reputation the doctor greatly 
enjoyed. 

It was he who organized the first 
Sunday school in New Salem. The 
young folks looked forward to the Sun- 
day meetings with much pleasure. 

Ann had charge of a class in Sunday 
school over which she presided with 
grace and dignity. Quaint indeed did 
she appear in the dunstable her mother 
and grandmother had worn. It was cus- 
tomary in those days for these bonnets 
to pass from one generation to another. 

In clear tones her contralto voice 
filled the little church, as she led in 
the singing, and moved more than one 
young man to devotion. 

One morning Mrs. Rutledge was 
34 



%xntoln'$ f ir^t 3lobe 



churning, and she and Ann were so 
busily talking they did not hear a rap 
at the door. Susan Yardly walked in. 

" You '11 excuse me, but I knocked 
several times, and you did n't hear me, 
so I just walked right in." 

"Glad to see you," said Ann; "let 
me take your bonnet." 

" No," said Susan; " I must get back 
home. I got to help ma with the iron- 
ing. I 've come to see if you wouldn't 
like to go with us all a-blackberryin' 
to-morrow." 

"Who all.?" said Ann. 

" Why, the Potters, Clarys, Arm- 
strongs, and Watkins ; then there 's 
>ome folks a-visitin' the Clarys, a young 
ellow and his sister, from way up north 
:>( here. They say he 's mighty good- 
ookin'. 1 ain't seen neither of 'em 
/et. 

35 



%mtoln'$ fit$t Hobe 



" Looks don't count for anything," 
said Ann. 

" Well, will you go ? " said Sue. 

"Yes, and I thank you for your 
trouble." 

" Trouble ! Why, blackberryin' or 
nuthin' would be no fun without you. 
The boys always say, first thing, * Is Ann 
Rutledge goin'?' The berries are largest 
and thickest in Uncle Lige Potter's 
meadow, and that 's such a pretty place. 
You know the old grapevine swing 
there, near the spring, and then there *s 
lots of pretty flowers that we don't have 
around here. Them lady's slippers 
grow thick down there. Well, I must 
go home. We '11 meet you at the mill. 
Good-bye." 

" Good-bye, Sue. I '11 be there at 
eight o'clock." 

The next morning Ann was off on 
36 



Jtmcoln^^ fit^t Htobe 



time, with a little splint basket her 
mother had woven, swinging on her arm. 
She heard the merry voices of her com- 
panions as she neared the old mill, and 
soon joined them. 

" Ann, this is Harry Blunt and his 
sister, Tillie," said Bob Clary, who felt 
a secret satisfaction in having so well per- 
formed the ceremony of introduction, 
which he had many times rehearsed in 
his mind. He thought Ann must 
surely admire his self-possession and 
dignity. 

The picnickers did not mind the dust 
and hot sun, nor the long walk, for when 
they reached the meadow they found the 
bushes heavily laden with rich, luscious 
fruit, and they soon filled their baskets. 
After resting awhile under the shade of 
the old trees, " Let 's have a game of 
fox and goose," said Susan. This was 

37 



atincoln'^ fit^t Kobe 



no sooner proposed than the ring was 
formed, and the young folks began mer- 
rily chasing each other around the trees. 
Harry Blunt asked Ann if she would n't 
like a swing in the grapevine. 

" Grapevines don't grow as big here," 
he said, "as on our place. Why, I Ve 
seen 'em bigger round than my arm." 

Bob Clary and Dorothy Armstrong 
were strolling along, when suddenly, at 
the cry of "Snake! snake!" the girls 
began to scream and the boys to scam- 
per for sticks, stones, and other weapons. 
Jim Armstrong became the hero of the 
day, by his bravery and skill in killing 
the rattlesnake. He slung it on a pole 
and carried it quite a distance, much to 
the dismay of the girls. 

"It's pretty dusty. I guess I '11 hang 
it on this here rail fence and brin? 
rain." 

38 



%intoW^ fit^t Hobe 



" Oh, what a tall fence," said Tillie 
Blunt. 

" Yes, and Abe Lincoln split every 
rail in it," said Rile Potter; "he's so 
big and strong he can split a heap in a 
day." 

"They ought to call him the rail 
splitter,'' said Tillie Blunt. 

One day in May, nearly a year later, 
as Ann sat by the door stemming straw- 
berries, a hand was laid on hers, and 
looking up she saw a tall figure standing 
by her. 

" Why, Abe, how you frightened me ! 
. I thought you were in Springfield. They 
j told me that you had gone there to live; 
that you were not coming back here. 
I thought I should never see you fishing 
at the old mill again; and somehow, 
Abe, it made me — made me — well, 

39 



%inttAn'$ fit^t Jtobe 



)^'' 



feel kind of sorry, you know, for you 
and I have always had such good times 
together." 

" Don't you think, Ann, that I will 
ever go to Springfield, or anywhere else 
to stay, as long as you are among the 
dear old hills of Salem. For, darling, 
do you not know that I love you? And 
Ann, dear, won't you be my wife? 
Don't you love me?" 

She stood with her head leaning against 
the door jamb, looking — looking — she 
knew not where. But to her it seemed 
straight into heaven. Abe put his arm 
about her, and as she answered, " Yes, 
I love you, and always shall," he 
kissed her lips, her brown hair, and 
her little brown hands, stained with 
strawberries. The two stood silent for 
some moments. The hills were pink 



40 



Ittncoln^^ fim Eobe 



with crab -apple blossoms, and their 
perfume filled all the air. 

" What must Heaven be, Ann, when 
this world is so beautiful ? I know that 
the angels are like you, and since I have 
your love I will be a better and hap- 
pier man." 

Mrs. Rutledge, who had been in the 
garden gathering lettuce and radishes, 
was surprised to see Abe, and knew 
from his and Ann's manner that some- 
thing unusual had occurred, but said 
nothing about it. 

*^ Well, so it hain't so that you 've 
gone to Springfield to live, then, Abe? " 

" No, not gone, but going. I have 
a chance to study law there, so I think 
I '11 try it. I shall miss the click of the 
old mill, the rippling of the Sangamon, 
; the song of the thrush, but most of 
all mv dear friends; and though I shall 

41 



%mttAn'$ fxt^t Eobe 



be in Springfield, my heart will be in 
Salem." 

" Here comes dad and Dave, and sup- 
per ain't nigh ready. Have you got 
them berries stemmed?" 

"Just about, ma," replied Ann. 

" I will help you," said Abe. 

" Set the table fer five, Ann, fer Abe *s 
got to stay; he ain't et here this long 
time." 

"Yes," said Mr. Rutledge, who had 
just come in, " and I '11 beat him at 
a game of checkers." 

An invitation, as it were, which could 
not be declined. Abe won the first 
game; and thereafter, Mr. Rutledge, 
having won the next two games, thought 
it time to quit. The evening was perfect. 
Abe and Ann walked by the light of the 
pale moon down by the river. He picked 
up from the sand a flat stone, about eight 

42 



Hincoln'jef fit^t Eobe 



inches square, and laid it aside, saying, 
^^ To-morrow I '11 carve upon this stone 
the date of our betrothal." 

A few days later Lincoln bade fare- 
well to the woman to whom he had 
plighted his troth, and to the scenes 
where were spent his happiest days; and 
returned to his studies. 

Ann found her mother and father 
alone next morning. 

"Did Abe get off, AnnP" 

" Yes, dada; and some day I am going 
with him, for yesterday he told me he 
loved me better than all the world, and 
asked me to be his wife. There, ma, 
don't cry, I will come often to see you 
and dada." 

" Oh, Ann ! your dad and me loves 
you so. Abe 's a good fellow, and I know 
he '11 be kind to you. I hain't no objec- 

43 



aincoln^^ f ir^t Kobe 



tions to him, but it's hard to gWQyou up. 
Thar won't be no more singin' about the 
house; and all day, while dad and Dave 
are in the field, I will be alone." 

Ann glanced over at her father just 
as he brushed a tear away with his sleeve. 
She went to him, put her arms around his 
neck, and said: " Dada, you and ma 
will come to see us; I will have one 
room just for you, and we shall have 
your visits to look forward to." 

"Yes, Ann. I must not act this here 
way ; I know now how your ma's folks 
felt when I took her. Abe, I know, 
is a mighty honest feller, and I 've 
knowed fer a long time he loved you. 
All I can say is, he is a lucky man." 

After Lincoln left Salem, Ann was 
never the same. She missed him, and 
longed to hear his footstep on the old 
walk leading to the house. 



HincDln'^ fitgt Sotoe 



She would often stand on the brow 
of the hill, from where she could see 
the cattle feeding in the green, shady 
pastures, and hear the birds sing. There 
was little beauty in the scene, or sweet- 
ness in the robin's song. 

And she would sing over and over 
again the old song — 

"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae weary, fu' o' care ? " 

Lincoln's business kept him closely 
confined ; but a few days before Ann's 
twentieth birthday she received a letter 
containing the happy news of her lover's 
coming. He would be with her on the 
fifteenth day of July, her birthday. 
The hot summer days seemed to ex- 
haust Ann, and she was unable to attend 



45 



Sincoln^^ f ir^t 3tobe 



to the duties her mother had always 
required of her, but she brightened up a 
little at the thought of Abe's coming. 

The long-expected day arrived. But 
the tender heart of Lincoln sank within 
him when he noted Ann's languid air and 
sad eyes. She hoped that he would n't 
notice that she was ill, but he knew it all 
too well. 

'^Tell me, dear," he said, as they sat 
on an old log by the river, " do you re- 
gret the vow you made me ? " 

"Oh, Abe! how can you speak so? 
I should die if it were not for your love 
for me ; it is all I live for. I am think- 
ing of you all day, and every night I 
dream of you. But, Abe, sometimes I 
dream that in — in that great place where 
you now live, you have forgotten poor 
me and don't care to come to see me any 



46 



Itincoln'^ f ir^t Hobe 



more. Then when I awake, I feel so 
heavy-hearted." 

" Look into my eyes, dearest, and 
let me tell you that as God is my judge, 
my love is all yours. My only thought 
is of the happy time when I can take 
you with me, transplant my little wild 
rose of Salem to the city, where she will 
still be the fairest of the fair." 

" Now, dear Abe, I shall try never to 
feel sad again, and not let that wretched 
feeling, that soon we are to part forever, 
come near me again." 

" Do you remember the stone, Ann, 
I told you I would engrave? Well, I 
carved upon it — *Ann Rutledge and 
Abraham Lincoln were betrothed May 
5th, 1835.' ^ buried it at the corner of 
the old store. There it shall stay until 
our heads are silver-white, and we to- 



47 



%intoW$ fit^t %o\}t 



gether will then unearth it, and you will 
say to me, 'Abe, you have kept your 
vow.' 

" I must go back to Springfield to- 
night, Ann, but before I leave you, you 
must tell me when I may come for you. 
Make it soon, dear. Shall it be next 
month, in August ? " 

" Oh, not so soon as that, Abe ; think 
how lonely poor ma and dada would be." 

" If you should wait a year they 
would be just as loth to part with 
you," he said. "You can come to see 
them often, Ann." 

" Well, when the maple leaves are 
crimson, and the sunlight's hazy, too ; 
when the cardinal flower's in blossom, 
and the goldenrod hangs in rich yellow 
plumes, I will go with you to our new 
home ; but I shall never feel strange or 



48 



Jlincoln^^ fit^t 3tobc 



lonely, because I shall have you. I 
shall be your wife." 

" That means that I may come for 
you in October. Uncle Peter Cart- 
wright will marry us, and all will 
be joy and happiness. Good night, 
dear girl. When I come again, let me 
find your eyes bright and your heart 

light." 

He left Ann at her door, and mount- 
ing his horse, rode away. She listened 
to the sound of the horse's hoofs until 
it died away in the distance, then went 
to her little bedroom and knelt in 
prayer, thanking God for the many 
blessings she had received. She tucked 
the little patch-work quilt about her 
aching form, and sank down in her bed, 
never to leave it. 

For two long weeks she suffered. 



49 



aincDln^^ f ir^t HoUe 



Doctor Allen was summoned, but his 
bitter doses were of no avail. Nothing 
could assuage the high fever. She called 
for Abe repeatedly, and they thought 
best to send for him. Dave, riding one 
horse and leading another, hurried off 
to Springfield. 

Just at ten o'clock the next morning 
Abe and Dave entered Salem; and Abe, 
in his anxiety, was not long in reaching 
Ann's bedside. 

" Oh, Abe, I am so glad you have 
come, dear! " said Ann. " I thought I 
must die without seeing you. I wanted 
so to tell you not to grieve for me, and 
to comfort ma and dada when I am 
gone." 

" Dear, you are not going to leave 
me! Why, I could not live without 
you ! 



50 



Stincoln'^ fim Eotie 



" God knows better than we," she 
said. "Sing to me, dear." 

He knelt by her bed, and with trem- 
bling voice sang her favorite hymn, 

" God moves in a mysterious way, 
His wonders to perform." 

Lincohi sat by her all day, holding 
her feverish hand. He would not leave 
her a moment, nor did he eat anything. 

Just at twilight, when the young moon 
hung low and bright o'er the western 
hills, and all nature seemed hushed 
by the wonderful spell ; when father, 
mother, brother, and lover were at her 
side, Ann Rutledge, with a long, sad 
look into the eyes of Abraham Lincoln, 
passed into the spiritual world. 

She was buried beneath an old elm- 
tree in Concord churchyard, but the 



51 



^tncoln'^ fit^t Jtobe 



body was afterwards removed to the 
new cemetery at Petersburg. After 
the burial, Lincoln threw himself upon 
the grave, saying these words : 

" Here lies the body of Ann Rutledge, 
and the heart of Abe Lincoln." 



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